


A Study in Blog

by magic8ball331



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blog post, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic8ball331/pseuds/magic8ball331
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson's journal entries after the fall of one Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Blog

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure if this will have multiple chapters or anything. It's more of a little drabble than anything else. I also tried to go for British slang, but if there is any misuses in there I am sorry.

"This phone call it's my note, that's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"

His arms were spread out, almost like an angel. Or, perhaps, more easily comparable, the messiah on the cross. I figured him more of an angel, but I watched in horror as he tossed his mobile phone to the side, the phone conversation over. My throat was hoarse, numb, and I felt as if I could not get enough air to scream my best friend's name. He was not an angel, Sherlock could not fly, and when he spread his arms out I knew the outcome. 

I didn't hear the sickening crunch of his emaciated body hitting the pavement, I didn't need to know. He'd thrown himself from the building, and falling at that speed...  
I tried to run, but my limbs would not work and by the time I was heading in his direction a lone biker crashed into me, sending me into the pavement. The coarse rocks cut open my face, but I climbed back into a standing position anyway and tried to work my way through the crowd of people surrounding Sherlock's body.

The crowd pushed back at me, refusing to let me through to my best friend no matter the plea I gave them. They were like a mob, refusing to let the doctor attend to his patient.

When I finally picked up his dainty wrist, it hung flaccid in my hand, and there was no pulse radiating underneath my fingertips, not even a faint one. Sherlock was gone. Sherlock Holmes was gone. My best friend. My angel, my messiah. Dead. 

It felt like centuries until Lestrade and the Scotland Yard group arrived. Most everyone was solemn, including Sally, who, despite her misgivings about Sherlock Holmes, did not seem to like the idea of his body flattened against the pavement. I somehow ended up with his thick trench coat, despite the fact that its coated in his blood, and despite the fact that it should be in evidence. 

No one seemed to care very much. 

I curled up on the pavement, close to where his body had fallen, and pressed my hands to my face in extreme agitation. The time passed in a blur, and suddenly I was in the leather seats of a company car, wrapped up in the coat that smelled of blood as well as Sherlock, and Mycroft was driving. He was sympathetic, very sympathetic for someone who's own little brother had just committed suicide. He drove me back to baker street, and informed Mrs. Hudson, who burst into teary hysterics, while I lumbered off to Sherlock's bedroom. 

I am quite used to seeing the bedroom empty, as he hardly slept, but this time it was different. He was never going to come back here. It still smelled like him, and was still covered in the remnants of his experiments and the bed sheets were perfectly clean, hardly slept in. 

Although for most of this I had been in silence, shocked stunned silence, I collapsed against his bedframe. My flat, was covered in the remaining of Sherlock Holmes, and there was no violin, no obnoxious behavior. After seeing his body, that was far too much for me to take.

It's been three days since then. 

I highly doubt that any of you will be reading this blog now that he's gone. Despite his faults and his less than pleasurable personality, Sherlock is, was, entertaining, and now that he's died there isn't going to be any exciting blog posts from Doctor John Watson. My life has changed because of him, and it will never go back to normal.  
I'll keep the blog up,(therapist's orders) but I understand if I lose some of your readership. Sherlock was the exciting one in the relationship, he had just granted me permission to tag along on some of his adventures.

I will tell you one thing though, I never for one second, will believe what he told me in the mobile call before he jumped off of the hospital roof. Sherlock Holmes is not a fake.

I still believe in Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
